It Was Always You
by agoodtuckering
Summary: Someone once told him that pain lie, in a way, in the truth of knowing that someone is going to leave you, or has already left you. The knowing was what hurt. Knowing that someone has been torn from you. The emptiness that followed. That hollow feeling that one couldn't quite grasp or free oneself of. It lingered.


**_It was always you._**

 ** _Can't believe I could not s_ _ee it all this time,_**

 ** _All this time._**

 ** _It was always you._**

 ** _Now I know why m_ _y heart wasn't satisfied._**

 ** _― Maroon 5_**

* * *

Someone once told him that pain lie, in a way, in the truth of knowing that someone is going to leave you, or has already left you. The knowing was what hurt. Knowing that someone has been torn from you. The emptiness that followed. That hollow feeling that one couldn't quite grasp or free oneself of. It lingered. Always. He couldn't remember who the words had come from. Oscar Wilde, probably. And _someone else_ had told him ― _ordered_ him ― not to be a warrior. Ordered him to remain what he always had been, and always would be ― a Doctor. _The Doctor._

He struggled through it all, every death ― four and a half billion years of it. Living, dying, finally getting to the TARDIS. Putting himself through what needed doing. His own nightmare.

Because of the Hybrid. Because the Hybrid wasn't half-Dalek, half-Time Lord.

Because the Hybrid wasn't Ashildr.

It was two individuals ― he and Clara, together, as one.

That is, _if_ the Prophecy was even real. If it wasn't just the mad ramblings and insane foretellings of a race that feared their demise. Their Doom.

And if he came right out and said those words, his fears about Clara and himself and admitted it, and was able to leave the Confession Dial, what then, pray tell, would he have to bargain with? Her life was worth so much more than his own. He would die a million more deaths just to save her, just to try his best to bring her home.

All for her. _Always_ for her.

Her face was the first one he saw, when he regenerated into the Twelfth Doctor, and by all the Gods, his wasn't going to be the last one she saw before dying.

He could save her.

And he did.

The Time Lords agreed to pull Clara out for what they thought would be a brief consultation, but the Doctor had other plans. He was clever. No, he was _desperate_. He was wild. He was _hell bent._ Never underestimate a man who has lost _everything_ he holds dear to him.

Hoping beyond all hope, daring beyond all dares, going above and beyond. He saved her, stole her away and brought her down to where the horrors of the Time Lords sat: The Catacombs, to where the Cloisters lie, to seek refuge and find a way to escape. And steal a TARDIS, of course.

There was a moment, between the two of them, that should have happened ages ago. Years ago. He never thought he would have the chance to admit what he felt inside. Everything. Every little thing. It was all there, where it had been lying dormant, in ache, for over four and a half billion years whilst he was stuck in his Confession Dial, and while they were running off together and solving puzzles and saving planets.

He even went so far to bring her to the end of the Universe, to the end of all things, where he needn't answer to anyone, where they were _safe_ for a few fleeting seconds.

 _Safe._

It hurt to admit the words to Ashildr, but the only way to keep her safe was to erase her memories of him. All of it. Everything. And of Danny, in the process.

The pain was all-encompassing. What more could you put a man who had lost everything, been stuck in a Time Lord Confession Dial for a very, _very_ long time, through? What more? He should have crumbled. He should have busted, should have burst at the seams. But he held so tight to all the pain, as always. He kept himself together, if only by a miracle.

Again, another moment that they weren't aloud privacy.

Another moment that wasn't spent alone, in one another's company.

Another moment where he wouldn't be allowed the simple pleasure of _admitting_ anything, of taking her in his arms and doing what he should have done whilst they still had the chance ― _kiss her_. Oh, but moments and chances were fleeting and few and far between. Like fireflies. Have you ever tried to catch a firefly with bare fingers, dear reader? It's nearly impossible. _Nearly._

All he could do was stare at the floor, intent on making what he felt to be the right decision. Because the Doctor was always the Helper. The Lover. _The Healer._ In his own ways.

"You and me, together. Look how far I went," he said, "for fear of losing you." Another pause. "This has to stop."

As with everything else, they did it together, pressing the button on the neural-block. One last surprise, one last shock to the Doctor. Clara managed, somehow, to reverse the polarities. Instead of wiping her memory clean, it would wipe his own clean of her.

"Run like hell," he told her, stumbling and falling. His voice was strained, eyes hazy and expression dazed. "Run like hell because you'll always need to. Laugh at everything because it's always funny."

Down on his knees, she fell beside him and reached out for him without hesitation. "No, stop it," she said. "You're saying goodbye. Don't say goodbye."

"Never be cruel," he continued, growing all the more befogged as the moments drew on. "And never be cowardly. And if you ever are, always make amends." He fell backwards, landing hard on his back on the TARDIS' floor. She went with him, eyes filled with tears. "Stop it. Stop this," were the only words she could manage.

"Never eat pears, they're too squishy," he added. "And they always make your chin wet. That one's quite important. Write it down." He pointed at her, injecting a bit of humor into their last moments together. Oh so like him. And by God, it hurt. It made her ache in the worst of ways.

"I didn't mean to do this, I'm sorry," she scrambled to get out. Their eyes said it all, though. All of it. Everything. And all Ashildr could do was watch, wistful for something similar, something even akin or comparable to the love they shared for one another. Something unbreakable. Something worthy of a Greek tragedy.

"It's okay," the Doctor said softly. "It's okay. I went too far. I broke all my own rules. I became the Hybrid. _This is right._ I accept it."

With tears in her eyes, she said, "I can't. There has to be something I can do."

They would never change, would they? And even as his memories were slipping away, like smoke in a man's weak grasp, he found himself gazing her way and uttering a few simple words. "Smile for me. Go on, Clara Oswald. _One last time."_ The words were soft enough, meant only for her ears.

Those tears. The tears streaming down her cheeks were like daggers to his old hearts. Each and every single one of them on her pale, beautiful cheeks. He wanted to brush them away with a thumb, to kiss the pain away. But he couldn't. He was too weak. Far too weak. It was too late for that now.

"How could I smile?" she asked of him, two hands resting on his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, reassuringly. "Don't you worry. I'll remember it."

And down he went, eyes falling closed as he fell completely unconscious.

The memories were gone. And Clara had a job to do. Time wasn't healing itself and she knew, deep down in her heart, that she wouldn't be going home this time.

 _Everyone had to face The Raven sooner or later._

But, there was just one catch ― the device was only Human-compatible, not meant for Time Lords. The deletion of memories wouldn't be permanent, which neither of them realized at the time. Not even the Doctor had seen it. Ashildr, herself, hadn't considered that option.

Everything ends. And it's always sad.

But everything begins again, too. And that's always happy.


End file.
